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Aziraphale did not take the front entrance to Heaven. Not only had he no interest in an official visit, he could not vouch how Heaven would react to an official visit. In fact, he had no idea how he would react to how they would react to an official visit, and his suppositions so spiraled from that point, he risked a headache just considering the possibility. If nothing else, he knew he didn't want to react to however they reacted to him.
Before everything happened, he had occasionally allowed himself the convenience of side exits when forced to report directly to Heaven and thus knew numerous ways to slip in unnoticed. Not so many decades ago, he may have enjoyed leaving undetected, knowing he had returned to his freedom, however truncated. Wishing to preserve real freedom now that he'd won it, things could not continue as they were, making this confrontation necessary, however unwanted.
No alarms announced his presence as he ascended, nor, as he continued, did troops appear to arrest him. It felt rather anticlimactic after all the preparations, though he assumed it meant all their preparations were worthwhile.
While Heaven embraced the nerve-wracking open-floor plan, the highest levels were still reserved for the Archangels, and so long as he kept his face down and walked quickly, as if avoiding a customer who he'd no desire to speak with, the few angels he did pass never glanced at him. None of them could possibly know him well enough to recognize him.
After a bothersome number of stairs to climb, he reached Gabriel on the top floor. Alone before a magnificent view of the buildings of the world, he stood with his back to the stairs. He still wore the pale violet, gray suit, shoulders still broad, hair still perfectly clipped and, for a moment, Aziraphale felt the too familiar dread freeze his insides. Throughout history, he stood in this same place, watching Gabriel's back, waiting to be acknowledged. While the window's view, always magnificent, changed with rising and falling civilizations, Aziraphale had waited silently, cleared his throat, stuttered a greeting, taken a few steps in, and been roundly ignored, until the Archangel 'happened' to turn about, notice him, and marvel at how quiet he was or wonder what he could possible need. As if Aziraphale ever arrived without a summoning.
All of that was before Gabriel made a deal with Beelzebub, sending Michael to Hell with holy water to destroy Crowley. And Gabriel welcomed a demon carrying Hellfire into Heaven to destroy an angel God hadn't cast out. They nearly lost each other.
Aziraphale's hands tightened into fists, then he stretched his fingers. Occasionally, he negotiated with annoying book sellers, often descendants who could not fathom the importance of their deceased relative's books beyond the price tag, and he assumed the same smile now.
"I say, old chap, this really must stop," he said, letting an intentionally heavy accent bounce about the open space as he strode forward. With a jump, Gabriel spun about.
"Aziraphale!" His eyes darted across the rooms, realizing they were alone, and then to the exits. The closest behind Aziraphale, the others would require Gabriel pass him to reach them.
"I was quite clear the last time we spoke and I had not imagined anyone could forget so quickly." While closer, he halted before reaching Gabriel. If the Archangel spooked too early, Aziraphale might end up in trouble. Crowley may not have agreed with the necessity of the plan, and he really had not liked Aziraphale returning to Heaven, even without risk of Hellfire, alone. However, Aziraphale remained and Crowley had no better ideas. "If you no longer recall what I said, perhaps you should speak with Uriel or Sandalphon. Did that demon terry long enough to hear? The exit was behind me, so I'm not sure, but you probably cannot ask him. Do you remember?"
"Of course, of course," he replied, nearly mimicking his normal confidence. "That is, no, that demon left, but, yes, I remember. And we have. Heaven will not-"
"Do you wish to guess if Crowley or I noticed your spies first?" he asked. Despite the mild question, Gabriel jumped again.
"Angels? Spying on you? I was quite clear that they were to stay well away from you." Shaking his head, he opened his hands. "I assure you, I'll speak with them about it. Overeager to prove themselves, no double. I'll see they stop immediately." Though he started to stride, he halted abruptly when Aziraphale shifted, as he would to stop a customer from going deeper into the shop without actually intercepting them. It was a most bizarre reaction. In all their planning, through Crowley had suggested it, Aziraphale never believed Gabriel could be nervous about himself.
"I am not sure if they are more terrified of 'the demon Crowley' or 'Aziraphale the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.' They are hardly acting on their own. It must be someone of considerable standing, within Heaven, who could force them to, attempt to, spy." They stood out so much, and flinched so badly if he or Crowley glanced at them, that calling them spies might be overly generous. It was bad enough that Aziraphale had suggested the obvious angels were distractions while and others, unnoticed, the real spies. Crowley, being Crowley, confirmed no one else spied on them by 'testing' humans for several days. A giant black winged snake had become the newest cryptid of Soho and, for all the screams and occasionally hunters, no one attempted to a holy smiting.
"Yes. Well." He paused, and just before he bolted, or yelled, Aziraphale sighed.
"I imagine you are very stressed," he said, keeping his voice soft and calm, as if speaking to a skiddish lamb. "First the buildup to Armageddon, then discovering the Great Plan was not the same as the ineffable plan, and being so distressed as to consider a deal with Lord Beelzabub-"
"You're your own deal with the devil!"
"Demon," he corrected. "And we're far past the 'deal' stage. Even then, none of my 'dealings' with Crowley backfired as spectacularly as yours. I can't even guess what Heaven is most upset about. After all the preparations for Armageddon, and this silly principality either messing it up or getting it right, and then Heaven will be demanding investigating every little thing, not trusting you with the most minor of things. Six thousand years and they don't believe in any of your successes anymore."
Closing the distance between them, just a simple bookshop owner who wanted nothing more than to putter among his books, he managed it without provoking any of the scenarios Crowley insisted he practice for. It'd not helped, at the time, that Crowley had made himself less inviting by suddenly yelling and declaring Gabriel called for Sandalphon like the coward he was. While annoying, and Aziraphale had chased Crowley out of the shop and refused to speak to him for a full day at one point, it had made him acutely aware of not stopping and starting his stride, nor moving too quickly, nor allowing any suggestion to be too damning or superficial, nor anything else Crowley insisted would set off Gabriel the Bully. It was annoying that Gabriel proved Crowley right.
"I constantly served the Will of Heaven," Gabriel said, justified. "Everything I did was for Heaven's Sake and everything above reproach. I didn't think you'd understand that."
"Of course I understand," he said, with all the warmth he gave Warlock when the boy was whining. Now standing within easy reach of Gabriel, Aziraphale gave a little wiggle as he beamed in success. "You have always been very good at deluding yourself, Gabriel."
He grabbed the lapels of Gabriel's jacket and jerked. This soft bookshop owner was still an angel and, if Gabriel believed indulgences and a round belly sapped him of his strength... well, it made him all the less prepared to be kidnapped.
Shoes hitting a metal platform, the edge just below one heel, the rocking of the sea would've dropped him into the waves crashing against it if not for Aziraphale's grasp on his jacket. The reek of petrol overwhelmed the brine of the sea and whatever other scents the prickling wind blasted past him. Lightning danced through the sky, followed by rolling thunder, the night black beneath the heavy clouds. Rain and wind lashed against his face, unable to soak through his clothing that quickly but he'd need to leave immediately or else use a miracle to keep himself from becoming sodden. That was, ironically, one of the frivolous miracles that prompted him to send Aziraphale a stern letter some centuries ago and, if he wasn't so disoriented, he would lecture Aziraphale on it again. The principality had been stationed on Earth since the beginning, knew how the weather worked, when one wasn't snapped out of Heaven without warning, and should prepare himself.
The ocean as black as the sky and few emergency lights illuminating the human's platform, Gabriel could only see the traitor before him, soft light diffuse about him, haloing his hair and emanating from his being. A frown, with lips pressed together, he looked almost as much disappointed as stern.
Lips twisting, Gabriel scoffed and began to shove Aziraphale back, when a flame appeared on Aziraphale's left. It played over long fingers as Crowley lifted his hand to his face, the red light and black shadows highlighting and hiding him. "Hi, Gabe."
Eyes locked on the fire, Gabriel knew it couldn't be Hellfire. It couldn't be. It wasn't that easily summoned and the demon couldn't waltz into Hell to get more. So it couldn't be. He knew it couldn't be. It was just regular fire, which couldn't hurt any of them. Not that Hellfire would harm the demon. Or the traitor.
It would destroy Gabriel. Hellfire would undo his very existence.
Aziraphale cleared his throat and Gabriel dragged his attention back to him. He had the demon on a string, somehow, but Gabriel controlled Aziraphale for over six thousand years. Hardly fit to be an angel, ever, he proved his failure at Heaven's standards yet again.
"This is all very unnecessary," Aziraphale said. The storm should've drowned out his soft, regretful voice. Not like the demon, who openly smirked in dark light of the fire. Distantly, humans were shouting, though about something else; this small confrontation had no witnesses. Aziraphale sighed, which shouldn't be audible over the roar of the ocean below and the storm above either. "This is all unnecessary. There shouldn't be another spill, you know, they really do know better, yet it was sadly predictably they would provide us this opportunity. Let me be entirely clear, Gabriel. This is your last warning. I put up with you for six thousand years and I will not do so any longer. If you come after me a third time, or Crowley at all, neither of us will hesitate. Do I make myself clear?" He spoke each word so clearly, so calmly, so confidently, that Gabriel burst.
"I am the Arch-"
Aziraphale pushed him off the ledge. "I'll take that as a yes."
Opening all his wings, a bright holy light in the storm tossed night, Gabriel reached for his sword, shot back up to smite the pair of them. The wave that hit him should've evaporated to steam on impact, but burst into flame instead and, in the moment of surprise, he was slammed beneath the water's surface, fire extinguished, consumed - gone along with the air and light. The waves weren't wet, but slick and slimy, churning through his feathers as he beat six wings against water-that-wasn't, somehow soaked and coated simultaneously. Recognizing when the ocean tossed him upward only because the pressure lessened, another followed, crashing over him, tumbling him until he couldn't distinguish up from down. The thick slime clung to his eyes, clocked his nose and ears, and coated his throat; if human, he'd have suffocated already.
His clothing as slicked as his feathers, he couldn't sort out the layers to rid himself of them. With his wings open and in disarray, unable to be folded away while soaked, tossed and - whatever else happened to them. In such a state, even if the waves would cease, he couldn't remove the jacket weighing him down.
He was the Archangel Fucking Gabriel! He had led the smiting of Sodom and-
The slimy not-water flashed into flame, consumed by his holy wrath in the same instant the water vaporized. The next instant, waves rushed into the empty space, smashing him under once more, charred as well as coated in slime.
"Human stupidity, one. Archangel, zero," Crowley commented after the oil-slicked ocean reclaimed Gabriel despite his impressive fireworks. "Don't think he quite gets it."
"I do not believe Gabriel has ever grasped any earthly concept," Aziraphale replied. Another flash deeper in the water didn't even create an impact on the storm tossed surface. Not that the winds or water touched himself or Crowley, and Crowley had extinguished the flame once the ocean claimed Gabriel. It had been Hellfire, which was why he held it in the hand away from Aziraphale. Not been enough to do more than permanently scar, it'd been their insurance in case Gabriel managed to attack, enough to scare him off so they could escape. "No being, not even an Archangel, can win against the ocean."
"The oil does help," Crowley added stretching his shoulders as he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Don't think he's going to figure out what it is any time soon. He's not getting out, can we go?"
"To the mainland here," he offered, nodding through the darkness. "The storm will abate tomorrow, and..." He sighed, interlacing his fingers, watching the now-invisible ocean. "I do not wish to be responsible for any angel's destruction, not even Gabriel's, but he didn't even wait a century. More than that, I've no wish to hurt him as much as I... want him to know, I guess. I don't want to fight him, I want Heaven to - demote him. Holi-ly." Quoting Crowley's own word, he smiled hopefully and his demon huffed.
"You going to let me in on the second part of this plan?"
"Of course, dear," he replied, beaming as he wrapped an arm around Crowley's. "Once we're safely on the mainland and inside, I have a message to send. Anonymously. Do you think we can find a Hurricane Party? I've always wanted to attend one. They sound so exciting."
Annoyance gone to fondness, Crawley smiled back. "I'm sure of it, angel."
Dawn had passed to noon by the time Gabriel found the shore. Wings askew, feathers at all angles, suit charred and torn, and everything covered in black sludge, he staggered out of the oil saturated ocean onto the oil saturated sand. Not saturated, exactly, because oil and water didn't mix, but he didn't care what the proper phrase would be, not when he felt saturated in it. Oil and salt and water and, somehow, sand sticking to it all. Every surface, every layer of clothing, every bit of visible and hidden skin, every feather, every hair.
A glance over his shoulder and he shuddered. His wings looked even worse than they felt. At least the oil coating his clothing hid their destruction somewhat. He'd lost his shoes and one sock, though he didn't know how, and he must've dropped his sword immediately, or perhaps he'd never fully grasped it before the first wave hit. His eyes and mouth, his teeth, were coated. A human wouldn't be able to see.
The last thing he'd seen clearly was Aziraphale standing next to Crowley, one in ethereal light he'd no right to and fire casting light and dark over the other. As soon as he recovered, he'd hunt them down. This ended today.
When he snapped, his fingers slipped soundlessly past each other, the oil too thick and slick to properly complete the motion. Despite not having inhaled since last night, he exhaled heavily.
This would end, that angel and the demon would end - soon. As soon as he finished with more pressing matters, such as his physical state.
"Gabriel?" Michael strode down the beach, immaculate regardless the sand she easily treed. Uriel followed, less comfortable walking in the sand, and she and several low-ranking angels stopped together, staring at him. Too aware of his state, he straightened from his exhausted slump and dismissed the oil with a thought. Though the oil thinned, he remained coated and in disarray, too much energy expended in his initial smiting during the worse of the storm when in the thick of the oil.
Raising a hand to dismiss the rest of it, Michael paused and let her arm drop. "You fought a mighty battle last night, by the smiting we noted, yet we could not pinpoint what you fought. The nature of the storm meant we could not interfere to aid you. Why didn't you return to Heaven?"
Not about to admit he'd been too disoriented to find Heaven, and uncertain where he would arrive if he tried transporting himself when so confused, he ignored the question. Any number of solutions presented themselves now, under the warm sun and blue sky, the wind nonthreatening, and the ocean quiet and safely behind him. In the dark, he thought only of wrenching himself free of their trap and attacking the traitor before it was too late to think at all.
"I should have realized the storm what demonic in nature. It was too powerful. Especially with the oil everywhere." He flicked one wing, sending a spray of oil out. "Did the traitor arrange for the spill?"
"The hurricane was entirely natural in nature," Michael corrected. "Heaven has mandated we not interfere with any natural occurrence unless the opposition is obvious. They are still discussing how to move forward and what to do without the Great Plan's guidance. The storm was not crafted by Hell, so we would not interfere." She paused, giving him a look for interfering, though she aimed her judgment frown as much at his interference as his inability to win. "The oil spill was due to human negligence, once more. Their station was understaffed, equipped with dated machinery, and would have failed an inspection even with the once more lax regulations. We had plenty of time to determine the cause of both storm and spill. Neither angelic nor demonic, even the smallest, were noted except for yourself."
"There was, at least, some small angelic and demonic influence you failed to access," he snapped back. This was nonsense, she answered to him, not he to her, and his feet were sinking into the sand as each wave reached just far enough to pass his legs.
"Not against the storm or the human's platform," she clarified, frowning at him as if he was being petty. As if he wasn't justified in his outrage. After all that happened, he should be commended for not lecturing her immediately. "Our investigations this morning, after the storm passed, found the brief presence of two other beings, but that was well after the equipment malfunction and they had nothing to do with the storm itself."
"The Guardian of the Eastern Gate was one of them," Uriel stated, stepping up with Michael. Along with her, the other angels joined them, still staring at Gabriel. "The other would be his boyfriend. They arrived at the same time as you. Heaven has declared neither should be approached."
Because Metatron and the others were cowards, afraid of one weak principality. The Antichrist was entirely human now, an adult human lost among billions of others, on his way to dying before the end of the next century. Without him to stand behind, the traitor would be easy to grab and finally shut up.
"I did not 'approach' either of them. Heaven should reexamine its security. Aziraphale just walked in." Though Michael flinched at his name, Uriel's remained expressionless, but perhaps annoyed.
"He is an angel," she said, giving Heaven's decisions again. "Unless God Themself casts him out, Heaven is open to Aziraphale. While trying to discover who you attempted to fight last night, we instead found several choral members you sent to Earth to observe him, in direct opposition of Heaven's current stance."
"We have to discover how he survived Hellfire! We can't just let him go after he defied Heaven!"
"Heaven?" Uriel repeated. Micheal had eased back, still standing with Uriel but supporting her. Since visiting Hell twice and witnessing Aziraphale's demon's immunity to holy water, Micheal more often stepped back when Uriel spoke up. "Or yourself, 'Archangel fucking Gabriel'?"
Eyes narrowing, he wouldn't answer her petty questions either. He owed her less than Michael, especially now, with her taking that tone.
"It's not extraordinary rendition this time, sunshine," Uriel said and at her nod, the other angels stepped forward. Despite their low rank, he was too exhaused to make them quell. "This is all above board. You will explain yourself to Heaven's satisfaction."
Seated comfortably where they'd not be seen, Aziraphale sighed as he relaxed, face dimpling as he smiled. When he looked to his husband for a reaction, Crowley nodded his agreement. Leaving Gabriel to Heaven's mercy was the most poetic revenge. At least for now.